of woes and waste
by theywillliveon
Summary: In which Narcissa and Draco are forced to confront their worst fears. Oneshot written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Astrology Assignment #4. Rated M for mild language.


**OF WOES AND WASTE**

 **Summary:** Narcissa has been keeping a rather large secret from Draco.

 **Disclaimer:** Still, I do not own any of these characters. Purely for my own personal entertainment.

 **Written for:** Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) - Assignment #4, Astrology, Water Task (write about someone discovering a friend/family member/loved one's secret)

 **Extra Prompts:** Draco Malfoy, Tragedy

 **Word Count:** 1359

* * *

It is exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy.

The rooms of Malfoy Manor are desolate and bleak; though they are filled to the brim with exquisite, well-crafted furniture, they remain cold, and unloved. The floors, once gleaming with fresh polish, are now dull, covered with dust. The whole house howls with neglect, cobwebs hanging from the tall ceilings and once-sparkling chandeliers. The corridors are silent, and exchanges between the house's occupants are non-existent.

In all honesty, Draco quite envies the bloody pack of redheaded hyenas. At least in a house their size, conversation with each other is inevitable.

He enters the breakfast room, clearing his throat as he does so. His mother doesn't look up. Staring into her tea, she swirls her spoon round and round and watches the spirals of steam gently floating upwards. Her fixated gaze never wavers. Draco watches her for a moment longer, but she is lost in mindless thought.

He sighs. It's been like this ever since the end of the previous school year. The absence of his father has resulted in the withdrawal of his mother from any kind of social activity - even talking to her own son.

The blond sits down. Abruptly, his mother jerks her head up, apparently only just now recognising his appearance. Watery blue eyes meet steely grey ones, and Draco has to turn away. He can't stand any more tears. But despite the waves that threaten to spill at any given moment, she remains calm.

"Draco," she says, in a hoarse tone. It is a voice, Draco decides, that you would perhaps expect to come out of a corpse. Not a live, functioning human being.

Narcissa clears her throat and tries again. It is the first time in weeks she has spoken, after all.

"Draco." she repeats. "We have to talk."

She finally catches his gaze. A frustrated expression is plastered over his face, and she looks confused. Draco scoffs under his breath. Only _his_ mother would think it normal to engage in conversation with someone after two months of ignoring them completely, and expect them to behave naturally.

He sighs. Again.

"What is it, Mother?" he asks - politely, formally, with an underlying tone of exasperation. But he doubts she picks up on it. She is too busy frowning at the table, no doubt choosing her next words carefully.

"Well, you know, I've been thinking -" Draco rolls his eyes at this. After all, what else could she have been doing? When she's not _sleeping_ , she's pretending to eat, and when she's not doing either of those things, she is simply sitting in her armchair, staring blankly into the fireplace, and, Draco can only presume, _thinking_.

"- and your aunt and I both agree that it's what's best for you. What do you think, Draco?"

Her son stares back at her. He's missed the entirety of his mother's dialogue.

The older woman stares back. Realising her son hadn't been paying attention to a single thing she said, she coughs again and says, "Well, Draco, I think it's time to start thinking about what to do without your father. After all, he needs a replacement within the Circle; and the Dark Lord agrees with me - in fact he was the one who suggested it, it would be a great honour, you know, a chance to prove yourself, especially after -" his mother pauses for a moment. The absence of Lucius hangs over them heavier than ever before. Narcissa breathes in heavily, and then resumes talking.  
"Well, after recent events, and, you know, it _was_ only a matter of time, and -"

"You want me to be a Death Eater." It isn't a question, it's a statement. And it dangles in the air, cold and oppressive, a dark cloud of negativity.

There is a moment of silence. Draco can't think properly. Is his mother, his _mother_ actually asking him to join the Death Eaters? To become a part of a group where hate dominates anything else, a group made up of pure blood supremacists, who kill people for _fun?_

He knows that this is hypocritical to think he is better than any of them. That's the whole fucking _point_ , he thinks, to keep up an aura of discrimination against Mudbloods. That's who he _is_. But he never wanted to kill anyone. And he still doesn't. Because, after all, he does envy Granger, with her intellect and good graces. He doesn't hate her. He respects her, in his own way; he _admires_ her. It's wrong, he knows. It's wrong to even let Mudbloods like her into the magical world. But something has changed since that first day on the Express; a feeling of regret and guilt and sadness that has slowly crept into his heart.

He also knows, however, that it was, after all, going to happen someday. Being a Malfoy, joining the Dark Lord's followers was inevitable.

Just not this soon.

He doesn't hate Mudbloods. Everytime he even uses the word, some part inside him shatters and breaks. With the absence of his father, everything has only become clearer. He doesn't want to _be_ who he is now; he wants to be a better person.

The thought disgusts him, from the icy-blond tips of his hair right down to his perfectly polished shoes.

"Of course," she adds hurriedly, "it's your choice, though -"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Draco cuts his mother off with a snarl. "That's not exactly a _choice_ , is it?"

Narcissa flinches at his harsh tone. Draco stands, and shoves his chair backwards, sending it crashing to the floor. He storms out of the room, only to pause in the doorway. He turns around.

"How long have you been planning this for?" the question flies out of his mouth, fierce, demanding.

She swallows.

The young man stalks towards her, and a flash of fear passes over her face. His mouth turns dry - she is already afraid of him.

But he can't be sympathetic. And he can't be kind.

He stops in front of her, and bends down, so they are eye-to-eye.

"How long?" he asks again, softer, more gentle, even though he know he should be being more forceful.

But he can't bring himself to do it. Here is his mother, a broken, broken woman, a selfish woman, but a woman who loves who she loves and only wants the best for them.

She sighs.

"Bella came right after the arrest," she says almost inaudibly. There are tears coming, Draco knows, but he doesn't comfort her yet.  
"She came after the arrest," she repeats, louder this time. She isn't looking at Draco. She's staring at the portrait opposite her chair, the one of her husband.

"The Dark Lord was furious - he blamed the loss of the prophecy on your father, and this - this is his punishment."

For the first time, Draco is confused. He knows that becoming a Death Eater isn't - at least to a rational person - exactly something to celebrate, but, after all, it was never considered a punishment by the Dark Lord himself. More of a reward.

"A - a punishment?" he asks, his confusion evident.

His mother laughs, a dry kind of sob that echoes monotonously around the room.

"There is a task," she finally gets out. "A task which not even the Dark Lord himself believes he is capable of carrying out."

A deadening sense of realisation kicks in, deep within Draco's gut.

"Me?" he asks. Then, again, "Me. He wants me to do this?"

His mother nods, a final motion in which Draco sees the end of the end, of all his hope, all his dreams and desires and plans for the future erased from the picture.

Another moment of silence washes through the room.

Draco stares at his hands. Then -

"I'll do it," he half-whispers.

His mother looks up. Tears are trickling down her face, her eyes rimmed red from crying.

They both know there was never a choice. And they both know that, most likely, he won't come out of this alive.

But it is his duty to protect his family, and he _will do it_. For the first time in his life, he will be brave.


End file.
